Naught
by Carrigan
Summary: Set when Aragorn reaches Helm's Deep (TTT). One simple action means everything, and nothing, to Legolas. [slash]


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Legolas' thoughts when Aragorn rejoins the remainder of the Fellowship at Helm's Deep. I don't think I'm the only one who notices the way Legolas looks at Aragorn; he wants that ranger bad! You can see the tears in our favorite archer's eyes when the men stand at the edge of the cliff and looked down, other than the obvious fact that he was the first one who noticed that Aragorn was MIA. Back to Helm's Deep. Aragorn of course, being Aragorn, is completely (or I would like to think deliberately) oblivious. The fiction below follows closely the actions and words of aforementioned characters, and can very well be insinuated into the context of that particular scene.

Lastly, if slash and/or the twisting of Legolas' and Aragorn's thoughts offend you, I hope you'll have the good sense to stay away. 

__

~ @--- ~

May it be an evening star

Shines down upon you

May it be when darkness falls

Your heart will be true

You walk a lonely road

Oh! How are you are from home

Mornie utulie (darkness has come)

Believe and you will find your way

Mornie alantie (darkness has fallen)

A promise lives within you now

May it be shadows call

Will fly away

May it be your journey on

To light the day

When the night is overcome

You may rise to find the sun

~ @--- ~

My heart slammed against my ribcage and I froze mid-turn, not quite daring to believe my eyes. Mayhap it was the glare of the unrelenting sun that cast visions into my mind. I had been convinced of his passing, though the thought ripped my soul each time I dared linger upon those last, fateful moments when the Evenstar had passed into my palm.

His face was gaunt and listless, but when he glanced up to the sky, I could see familiar determination and fire, a flash of the leader I had come to know in those dark, dark eyes. His shoulder bled, crisscrossed with ugly red scratches and welts as it was, as he strode up the cobblestones. I stepped out from the shadow of the corner where I had been lost in prior, now forgotten thoughts, and put myself straight in his path.

So much to say, and yet nothing seemed to emerge from my throat except a strangled, "You're late." I searched his gaze with my own, before lowering my eyes to check his self. What else could I do?

I felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to drop all pretence of courtesy and formality, and just throw myself into his arms.

"You look terrible," I hoped he hadn't noticed that I had drawn back. His touch, now, more than ever, would undo me.

The quizzical expression he had been directing at me flickered, before the beginnings of a smile curved his lips. Yes, that was it. We were back on solid ground together, where every word and action would be categorized into one of the many partitions I made a necessary burden for myself. Who knew how far I would let myself be tempted without those strict guidelines?

Unthinkingly, I brought the object of my earlier, absentminded attentions out, face-up in my palm. His laughter faded, and he looked at the jewel before looking back up at me. In that moment, time seemed to slow and pause around me, and I cannot deny that my heart was aching for his choice.

The Evenstar was his, as surely as Arwen had bound herself to him. She had gifted him openly with her true affection, and the jewel was a symbol of this, of their sharing, of their relationship. When I had believed Aragorn dead, the Evenstar had been the only thing I had of him for a memory, and I had sworn that I would cherish it. Yet, now, with him alive and well of body and mind, standing firmly in front of me and so close that I could sense his aura, I wanted nothing more than to cast that jewel to the ground and destroy it.

I watched his hand rise, the noise of the crowd about us fading in the silence that burned my ears. I watched as his fingers curled around the Evenstar, pulling it from my palm and closing around that perfect work of glass and spirit. He reached out to clasp my shoulder, and I didn't have to meet his gaze to know the gratitude and understanding that would be written there, clear and plain. For myself, I could not raise my eyes far enough from the ground, where within would surely remain the shattered remnants of my traitorous heart, sharp and fresh enough to betray me.

It hurt so badly, even when I smiled.

His understanding was of friendship, of honor. He knew naught of my feelings, and I did not know if that was honestly the best way. Yet, better to have that, than nothing at all. 

He released me then, and I answered his silent question by cocking my head to the chamber where the king was taking a moment's reprieve. He nodded, and then brushed past me with the air of one who bore urgent news. I could detain him no longer.

But how I wanted to. 

Gods, how I wanted to.


End file.
